


Yâgur-Taál

by VoidMatron



Series: Legendarium [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Crush, Dwalin Feels, Dwalin Is A Softie, F/M, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Love, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidMatron/pseuds/VoidMatron
Summary: Thorin and his Company find themselves lost within the rolling hills of Hobbiton that brings the attention of a rogue Dwarrow Dam from the past to set them upon the right path towards Bag End.In turn, Dwalin unexpectedly begins to rekindle affections for an old flame that he thought long snuffed out.
Relationships: Dwalin (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Legendarium [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083569
Kudos: 5





	Yâgur-Taál

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic involving an actual original character beyond the generic NPC!  
> I've had her for quite some time, but never actually paired her with canon characters of Middle Earth due to harassment in the past so most of her story has been left in the dark of WIPs and for my own enjoyment. Hope everyone enjoys!

"Alright, there's to be some rules here! We be passing through the Shire in a bit and it's sundown, so some of the territories have noise ordinances!"

"And those are?"

"Regulations that be followed by the locals _and_ outsiders! A lot of good, nosy elderly Hobbits live about, most don't like commotion after sunset, but even with their age most of'em could hear a river rat fart in their gardens. That being said; we be passing through a checkpoint, the lot of you must be quiet or they're likely to call the Shirif and his guard upon ye lot!"

"What's a--"

A thick, burlap tarp was thrown over and tied down tight by six other Dwarves with faces covered by wooden masks. There was a few grumbles and mumbles from the Company that were squished like sprats in a jar while the Dwarrow Dam climbed upon the front bench to grab the reins where Thorin and Dwalin sat with cloaks hiding their faces save for what little sunlight was left causing their pupils to reflect and glow. The Dam turned to adjust her own cloak, looking upon them in turn with her own eyes glowing as well. A click of her tongue against her teeth made the donkey bray as it pulled the heavy cargo, causing the wheels to creak and roll while the soft stomp of hooves came with the two guards upon ponies followed close behind.

This was not part of the schedule, but it was an entirely unexpected turn of events that led to them all traveling in the cover of night. Bhâtella Rubyhammer was _not_ a happy Dam and she expressed that by glowering and doing her best not to snap at any of them. They were under a time limit and needed to be swift, less they miss their chances to pass through the checkpoint without question. The Dam was a Dwarf was from afar that had roamed the great lands of Middle Earth ever since her forties, the daughter of a legendary blacksmith, noble blooded, and self proclaimed happily "banished" from her people. She had lived within the Shire among the Hobbits for some time now, toiling the ground and praying to Yavanna for prosperity to where her fingers were sore and back ached. Decades spent of blood, sweat, and tears had brought the fruition of not only a brewery, but also a small orchard that had her produce The Best mead and rum to Wasmeet to Brocket Borings, preserves, jams, and smoked meats in ways that the Hobbits could only describe as _"Dwarf Touched"_ . Making private deliveries to the Shire Homesteads of the more wealthy stock who could afford the shipment fees were her usual bounty, so she knew the way like the back of her hand. Occasionally there was wealth to be had Bree-Land too during the seasonal shifts when outsiders usually traveled from one destination to the next. The Hobbitfolk were judgemental of her of course, but a respectable lot, she had earned her reputation for minding her own and providing a pleasure that the Hobbits began to eventually praise. What right minded Hobbit was to ever turn down good food and drink anyways? Her orchard and brewery provided jobs for those that struggled to find work, though a majority of her watchmen were other Dams that were self exiled, but what did the Hobbits know? Beyond being a bit too talkative sometimes, they couldn't be stressed enough to question the going on's of her watchers being men or women. Bhâtella was private for just reasons. She _adored_ her isolation and her work, like a queen bee within a hive; she kept to herself and her "sisters" that had her loyalty and in turn their trust.

So it was of no surprise that when the first Dwarf that was pulled and escorted to her office, she looked upon Balin with a curious brow, grinning because she recognized him the moment she saw that beard and red nose. Amused, they spoke like old friends--as they were--and were nostalgic with sips of brandy. Then came two more. Then three. Then four. Before long there was _thirteen_ of the bastards being hauled in by her watchers who kept their weapons drawn as the whole lot of them were assessed. Some she recognized plenty; Bofur and his lot were _very_ familiar given that he and his cousin often traveled with caravans to sell seasonal goods during festivals and holidays, yet she lingered upon Dwalin who looked upon her with eyes wide and mouth agape as if he had seen a ghost. His companions noticed his reaction, raised brows when he whispered curses of shock and rose them higher when Bhâtella appeared to _flinch_ and _glare_ upon him with judgement. Dwalin was never one to falter, nor to gawk in such a way less it was justly deserved, so to spout bewilderment with face going red and eyes reverting to a glare of fury came with awkward side glances of the others trying to make sense of what had just happened. A discussion was had and per usual predictions all of them gave an upnod towards their leader; Thorin Oakenshield. At first there was tension, but careful debate was had, questions for both sides followed with mutual agreement and a proper handshake towards a deal. Bhâtella would provide transportation to the home that harbored a Khûz insignia, in turn she'd be paid half now and half upon their arrival.

Now they were on the road, keeping as quiet as fourteen Dwarves upon a cart being pulled by a very grouchy donkey could be. For the first few hours, they were all actually rather quiet, which was a staunch surprise. Beyond the occasional grunt or cough that came with low whispers, they were all mindful to keep quiet. That is until there was a sniff and a snort, that then followed with a disgusted groan which only followed with wheezes and coughs.

"Oh bloody hell someone's gone and goose egged!"

"Honestly the lot of you are hogs in a pen!"

"I'm sorry! I'm getting quite nervous! I get a little bubbly when nervous!"

Laughter and more retching sounds came with bantering jokes, some of the Dwarves leaning and lifting the tarp up to gasp for gulps of fresh air, others scrambling to avoid the stink that was overtaking the small caravan. Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched tight while Dwalin grit his teeth hard enough that a vein throbbed along his temple. Bhâtella looked collectively exhausted and just as equally annoyed as the other two that sat by her side. Suddenly, she gave a barking order in Khûzdul, her voice echoing and with it came the two guards suddenly smacking the sides of the cart with sticks where face and hands were poking out, ordering the lot of them to keep quiet in angry, hissed tones.

"Forgive them, they are not as incompetent as they look," Thorin apologized formally.

"Since they seemed so emboldened to nod in your favor as the one to speak for them, any consequences that come upon us because of their actions will befall upon _you_ to mitigate to the best of your abilities," she clipped right back.

Thorin was _not_ used to being spoken to in such a tone. If it had been his father, maybe his sister, or even Balin then surely it would settle more tolerant upon his ears. Yet to have such an imposing and forward woman speak with little to no formality left Thorin completely unprepared and greatly _annoyed_. Dwalin equally seemed bothered by how she was speaking, his head suddenly turning so fast that his neck almost cracked when he looked upon Bhâtella with judgement.

"I and my Company harbors your ire."

"You and your Company harbor no ire, but _caution_. Mine and my own are Dams that have suffered more upon the hands of our fellow Dwar than upon the dangers that Middle Earth and her lands provide."

Thorin had heard of such a thing; Dams who had opposed their society due familial conflicts or even because they were accused of being witches that had wrongfully been accused of causing plagues and curses. Yet Thorin was confused on Bhâtella's self proclaimed "exile". She knew of healing Magicks, but hardly deemed a witch. Words from the past spoke that she wasn't exiled from her homelands either, more that she simply chose to leave in hopes for a more active future. As far as he knew, she was a well rounded Dam with ties of nobility, borderline royalty, that traveled the Threaded Roads of their people making a boon as a Matron within the inner circles of merchant trade. He knew of the gossip as well though, Bhâtella wasn't like most Dams; she _liked_ her freedom and above all else she knew what she wanted, and if she didn't get it then she eventually found a means to obtain what she desired be it wealth, food, or love. _Especially_ love. The day that she had left had been quite the damning blow for many within their Company, for she was an Aunt or a sister they could turn to. Though to a few particulars she was a passionate lover too, and had made a deep impression upon them in more than one way. More so Dwalin the most.

"Do not take our demeanor as unique just upon you and your own. We've run into confrontation with thugs and uppity bastards from th'dales of Bree skulking about. A bad deal often leaves both sides somewhat tense," Bhâlli said to redeem her snappy tone.

"And yet you've decided to help us, Bhâtella. Here I thought you despised me," Thorin mused dryly.

"Who's to say that? What have you heard? Surely Dwalin doesn't speak so ill of me upon my leaving?" Bell wondered with mock tone.

"No ill spoken. None needed to be said. You left us, Bhâlli," Dwalin groused carefully as he kept his eyes forward.

Bhâtella looked genuinely hurt by those words as Thorin exhaled a low sigh at the tension he felt between the two and did his best to redeem it back to higher vibes of mild annoyance.

"If it brings comfort, we appreciate the help, Bhâtella. Even if this may be harsh times for us all, not many have gone out of their way to assist when it's needed."

"Think nothing of it, Old Bear. I may favor the Halflings, but let it be said that I'm still a Dwarrow and I help mine when they face hard times."

"But to here. Why here? Of all places?" Dwalin wondered, tone bristling to indicate old wounds resurfacing.

"Have ya seen a Hobbit eat? Ever seen'em _drink?_ Upon all of Middle Earth, no bloody race eats and drinks as much as a hungry Hobbit on holiday after smoking a batch of pipe weed. I make _three times more_ on deliveries alone to the Shire and Bree than I ever did in Luín! Best decision I ever made!"

Thorin and Dwalin looked at one another then back at Bell with quiet judgement. They couldn't very well complain, Bhâtella was clearly thriving and keeping the coin flowing by indulging the Hobbits. Yet Dwalin looked a little hurt by such a remark and Thorin gave him an apologetic look in return as they redirected their attention upon their surroundings to make sure the path was clear.

Not a word was spoken as they passed through the checkpoint, Bhâtella showed the correct papers and there were a few glances at the cart, which she promptly explained an unexpected delivery at the last minute causing a destination to be made before dawn. Travel within the Shire neighborhood was just as equally strange for the Dwarves as it was for the rest of Hobbiton. Never in their lives had they seen such tidy and ornate gardens, perfectly lush fields and rolling hills that they now recognized to be homes which drew soft murmurs of conversation over surprised interest that Hobbits lived underground as they did.

"Who be this Dam anyways? Thorin was rather quick to accept her assistance," Gloin wondered as he peeked from under the tarp.

"She's an Easternling Dwarf. Red Mountains," Bofur said as he quickly stopped Bombur from trying to eat at a chunk of cheese.

"Bhâtella Rubyhammer. She's still The Flame of Rhûn by the looks of it," Balin mused with a tired chuckle.

"The wot of who?" Ori wondered.

"That's a whole lotta Dam. Is she single?" Fili teased and chuckled as did others.

"She's got quite the front!" Kili snickered.

Bofur didn't seem to laugh though, he looked as if he were hesitant to answer Fili's question, but his smile still lingered as he sat back to slouch a little.

"She's a sweet lass once ya gain her trust and she's quite the adventurous sort. That's all Im's to say on _that."_

No sooner had Bofur said that did the others inquire on what exactly he meant, but they all fell quiet when the cart came to a jerked stop that jostled them to attention. The tarp was removed and with it one by one the Company was encouraged to step off before being directed to a home known as Bag End; an oaken door painted yellow that harbored a glowing insignia of their runic alphabet. Prompt farewells were given, though Gloin was halted to speak with Bhâtelle while the others were quick to step within, all the while a very confused Bilbo stammering and complaining at unannounced "guests" marching their way inside. They settled within Bag End, Mr. Baggins being at least somewhat hospitable enough to provide food and basic comforts of seating as they all gathered about within his lovely dining area.

Thorin and Dwalin lingered by the doorway, watching Gloin and the Dam exchange a few choice words with one another that came with Gloin barking rather defensively, then suddenly being hoisted right off the ground! Thorin was just about to step forwards, ready to yell at the woman, but he was stopped by Dwalin grabbing his front and shaking his head.

"She's not gonna hurt'em. Knowin' Gloin, he ain't keen on payin' up the other half," Dwalin grunted lazily as he watched the confrontation.

Bhâtella had made easy work of lifting Gloin off the ground, who proceeded to shriek and yell, proclaiming his status, grabbing and digging nails into her wrists that hardly made the Dam flinch. Her Watchers frisked Gloin, picking and pilfering through all his pockets, every layer pulled and lifted before the drawstring bag of coins were plucked right from under the fold of hip and belly fat before being promptly placed right back down on the ground. Dwalin chuffed a small chuckle at the sight which was quickly silenced when he received a side glance from Thorin. They watched as Gloin came storming up the stairs, angry and humiliated at being foisted and manhandled in such a way. Thorin followed him inside, but Dwalin lingered to watch the Dam and her companions begin to air out the caravan and roll up the tarp. He didn't entirely realize that he was moving, _following_ Bhâtella's movements, before he suddenly stopped and realized that he was standing right behind her. He watched her tense, turn, and instantly Dwalin's heart melted with familiarity. It was those eyes he looked upon first, the deep brown lining the vibrant orange with flecks of gold. Those eyes took his breath away, stole his words to where he was unable to speak and he felt a warmth over his face that made him grunt out a noise. Bhâtella watched Dwalin, amused by his face going with a little color as she placed a hand on her hip.

"Dwalin."

"Bhâtella."

"Still the royal hound."

"Still the royal bitch."

They both laughed at the playful jabs at one another that followed with a shake of head as Dwalin leaned to prop his hand against the cart's side. Bhâlli scoffed while crossing her arms over her chest. "You've gone and gotten yourself caught up in something ridiculous as par the course."

"Hardly no! Just an adventure!"

"An adventure is wrestling a bear for his pelt, Dwalin. A pity you've gone about following Thorin yet again."

"Please don't start, lass. It be too nice of a night for tha'," Dwalin protested gently.

Bhâtella reached to rest her hand atop his own, thumb rubbing along calloused knuckles that felt smooth, but hard as carved stone. It was as if the damned Dwarf had been cut and wrought from marble itself by Mahal's divine hands. Gentle taps to be had as she looked down at his hand and traced over the brands of faded blue and black tattoos that made her smile as she looked up to lean back against the side of the cart. Dwalin moved in closer, hellbent to get more of Bhâtella in what little time he was given. Bhâtella welcomed his mute pining by letting their foreheads bump together while hands moved to rest upon her hips, a squeeze to be had that made red go along her cheeks as well.

"Did ya mean it? 'The Best decision ya ever made'?"

"Business wise, yes, I've been quite profitable since relocating. What's tae be all the wealth of the world if you be alone, though?"

"Why didn't ya bother stayin' put?"

"Why is it the only time I see you in ages is when Thorin tugs your leash in my direction?"

"Bhâlli.." Dwalin murmured sadly, feeling a bubbling of guilt that made him hard to swallow down that anger he felt from her. "I know plenty of your ire with Thorin and each time I tell ye' to have pity. This time it be different. I swear's it."

"We've all lost fathers, Dwalin. Some of us don't have the luxury to sulk for over sixty years on it. What do you mean 'different'? What are you lot up to?"

"Tha's quite a cruel thing to say," Dwalin stated, doing his best to avoid the interrogation.

"Crueler that you enable his self loathing. What do ya mean by 'different', Dwalin?" She asked again, this time with insistence that she wasn't to let go of that crumb of a hint given.

Dwalin did his best to keep their foreheads pressed against one another, his grip tightening as he felt his face get warmer with her curious excitement. T'was a damnable curse Bhâtella had. Always inquisitive and wondering. Too nosy for her own good. Dwalin couldn't tell her, he knew that if he did, she would insist to come along. Nay. _Demand._ He didnt want to see her in danger. He had no idea if even he would survive what was to surely come upon this Quest, but he knew without a doubt that even if he refused Bhâtella, she would have a fit and as stubborn as she was, she would follow. Gods. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her! Dwalin stammered something that came out more of a deep grunt to affirm he was genuinely flustered by Bhâlli's words, clearly struggling with explaining (hell at least he wasn't lying!), who in turn chuckled to reach and brush strands of his beard away, ensuring that it looked even once more.

"Im's not meant to speak on it. The less folks know the better and ya' know how Thorin is."

"Aye, I know," Bhâlli said with a sad smile.

There was that brief moment where both of them had words to speak--so much to say with what little time they had made lips tighten and eyes avert. Bhâtella tried to pull away, intent with going back to work, but Dwalin stopped her again as he tried to speak up.

"Bhâlli..I--...it's good to see ya again. _Truly._ Yer quite the burning light in these dark times."

Bhâtella smiled more, hands going to Dwaln's biceps to give a firm squeeze and taking a step back to broaden the space between them. She turned away for a moment, going to the front of the car to lift the seat where a hidden panel rested a few emergency items. Shuffling and pushing things aside, Bhâlli procured a mason jar that was sealed with wax. Looking it over, Bell handed it to Dwalin who squinted to examine it with quiet scrutiny before gasping in surprise.

"Did you make this? Bloody hell, Bhâtella, this be worth a--"

"I've been saving it for a rainy day. Rather you have it if ya come onto hard times. Something's tells me you'll be needing it. Don't tell Bofur you've got this. He's smitten with the spiced strawberry preserve and I've seen him box plenty of folks to get the last jar."

"Bhâtella..I'm so sor--"

" _Don't. Please._ No sentiments! No soft nonsense! I'll not distract you from your objectives! Just..come back to me safely, Eňdala. Promise?"

"I swear's upon mine ancestors that I'll return to ye, Yâgur-taál."

Bhâtella scoffed with hand on her hip as she rolled her eyes as if to dismiss the promise, but smiled nonetheless and brown cheeks flushed with more red as she bid Dwalin farewell. Dwalin stood, holding the jar in his hands while watching Bhâtella take her leave down the road. For a few fleeting seconds, Dwalin stood there trying to process everything he felt. Fear. Worry. Guilt and regrets on things left unsaid, things from the past that made him feel shame even. Yet overlapping it all he felt _hope._ A strange sense of _excitement_ that he now had something to look forward to. _Something personal to fight for._ In that, as Dwalin meandered his way back inside, he could feel his mind being filled with a passion that he hadn't felt in decades. He felt a newfound determination blossom in his heart that he would definitely use to help Thorin and his friends reclaim Erebor.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> Eňdala - Boar  
> Yâgur-taál - Heartfire


End file.
